Surprise me. That’s what my imaginary T-shit says. Not “Did it” or “Tony Hillfiber” . . . mine says, if you’re looking at me for a reason, the jokes on you.
The greatest things in life are unexpected. That’s what my imaginary tombstone says.
“It was funny, I thought it was him but it wasn’t. Then later on, lo and behold! There he appeared.” That’s what my friend said. Or something along those lines.
I can’t say that all surprises are the good kind. But in the end (Or just before the end.), isn’t it all good to know?
Discovering . . .
the lack of openness between the door and the frame upon exit time, due to a broken(x2) knob that was once repaired by the rent eater
the sweet hereafter taste of my favourite daily hot drink is now lost to an oversensitive vital organ
an expozine is not limited to zines
the =Big Mouth= book, that for months now has been left unstricken on my GOOD TO READ, HARD TO GET list, is on a table, an arm length away, waiting there for me to take it away to my nook
when enjoying a nice walk under a light snowfall, my vital organ has magically produced symptoms that are quite the drag
just around the corner, a not so majestic 80's style banner sign, heralds some kind of =Solutions To All Your Ailments For A Price= shop (Travel size galore.)
an opus is not my only ticket for a bus ride, thanks to a woman standing in front of me, talking to the ticket master
my wallet is a few bills short of a monthly magnetic transit pass
the bag I am holding contains a few bills worth of zines and one odd book
my habit of reading the last phrase of a book in order to judge it’s buying/borrow value finally pays off:
“And then he died.”
The greatest things in life are unexpected. That’s what my imaginary tombstone says.
“It was funny, I thought it was him but it wasn’t. Then later on, lo and behold! There he appeared.” That’s what my friend said. Or something along those lines.
I can’t say that all surprises are the good kind. But in the end (Or just before the end.), isn’t it all good to know?
Discovering . . .
the lack of openness between the door and the frame upon exit time, due to a broken(x2) knob that was once repaired by the rent eater
the sweet hereafter taste of my favourite daily hot drink is now lost to an oversensitive vital organ
an expozine is not limited to zines
the =Big Mouth= book, that for months now has been left unstricken on my GOOD TO READ, HARD TO GET list, is on a table, an arm length away, waiting there for me to take it away to my nook
when enjoying a nice walk under a light snowfall, my vital organ has magically produced symptoms that are quite the drag
just around the corner, a not so majestic 80's style banner sign, heralds some kind of =Solutions To All Your Ailments For A Price= shop (Travel size galore.)
an opus is not my only ticket for a bus ride, thanks to a woman standing in front of me, talking to the ticket master
my wallet is a few bills short of a monthly magnetic transit pass
the bag I am holding contains a few bills worth of zines and one odd book
my habit of reading the last phrase of a book in order to judge it’s buying/borrow value finally pays off:
“And then he died.”
Labels: book